


White hot

by Pixie234



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 15:30:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3901453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixie234/pseuds/Pixie234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karen and Matt find out some disturbing news and finally admit their feelings for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White hot

They had been pulling an all-nighter for a big case they were working on. It was already 3am. He heard the coffee cup smash on the floor, at the same moment as the sharp intake of breath from Karen. He got up from behind his desk and came into her office. “Karen, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” She was standing, and staring at her laptop screen. Now, the smell of tears and the feeling of sheer terror reached him. “What? What?” He came forward and hovered awkwardly at her desk. He smelled the coffee seeping across the floor. He had always struggled to comfort tearful women. Foggy was better at that, but he was away, camping in Yosemite, out of contact. 

“Karen, what is it”, he asked? He realised he was shouting- her panic was now creeping under his skin, and he was getting frustrated; desperate to take it from her. Silence. “Karen?” A gulping breath, and then: “Fisk has escaped….”

“What?” Matt asked. “It’s here in the online Bulletin. He’s escaped. He’s escaped”, she said. Matt felt his hairs standing up on the back of his head. He felt anger welling up from the pit of his stomach; so intense that it drowned out thought, hearing, smell, touch… everything. He was brought back into the room by the increasingly forceful breathing and rising tide of sobs coming from Karen.

“He’s escaped!” She was hysterical now. “What if he knows that I… What if he finds us! What if he comes for me? I was just starting to feel happy and safe, and move forward, just like you said!” She covered her face with her hands, hyperventilating.

“I will protect you, Karen…. I’ll… I’ll keep you safe…”

“HOW?!” She screamed. How? We’ve been down this road before! We did everything! Everything, and he still got out. That means there are even more cops on his payroll… and…and… for God’s sake, how? You don’t have guns, or a gang, or… For God’s sake, you’re BLIND Matt; you wouldn’t even see him coming! You can’t keep me safe! You can’t even keep yourself safe!”

Matt was stung by those words. He had not had his ‘disability’ flung in his face like that since school. Those words hit a nerve, because he feared that he could not, in fact, protect her. A cold sweat spiked on his forehead. He could not begin to contemplate her being hurt or taken, or worse… They had now done so much together. A year of sharing their little office; gathering clients, working on cases. Winning cases, in fact, often due to her sheer tenacity and far-reaching intelligence. Every day brought with it some new joy in the form of her ringing honey laugh; her apple scent; the sound of her gossamer hair being tucked behind her ear; the sound of her heels on the floor. She challenged him on so many levels. There was just something about her. Something unspoken. He had never felt a stronger desire to protect anyone in his life-not even Claire. The irony was that Karen was feisty and self-sufficient - definitely no damsel in distress here. 

He knew now, what had to be done with Fisk. She was clutching the edge of her desk now. “He’s going to kill us! We’re going to die!” She was shrieking, her panic manifesting in her words. This was so unlike Karen. She was normally so together, and strong. Matt felt utterly helpless to comfort her, as she had done for him, that night after he and Foggy had fallen out. Again, he had not felt this helpless in many years- not since immediately after the accident. He took another step towards her. Conflicted feelings clawed at him. He had been so careful to keep a respectful distance between them; careful to resist being drawn into her, as much as he longed to do so. He had, though, started becoming resentful of his blindness of late- he longed to be able to see all of her, in the colours that Foggy had tried to describe… “Man, she has these amazing eyes… a kind of aqua, tropical island kind of ocean blue; and don’t even get me started on her lips, Matt- don’t even get me started.” She had never said or done anything overt to make him think she was even remotely interested, but he could swear that, at times, her fluttering heart had betrayed her; when she leaned close to fix the screen reader, or whatever else… and there was that time that she had caressed his face when she had brought him the balloon. “It has a monkey on it.” 

He came back into the present again. She was shaking now. He approached her and put his hands on her shoulders, to try and calm her down. She reached for his left hand with her right. Her touch spilled over his hand; over all of him, reaching his core somehow. He caught his breath. Her face burned white-hot. He’d never experienced anything like it- his world was red, orange, angry. But Karen… He pulled her closer and wrapped his arms- himself around her. He was overwhelmed by a year’s worth of pent up feelings. He inhaled her perfume. He drew away and touched her face, her tears, in spite of himself. And then he kissed her. He felt an intense glow sweeping over his face, down his neck, into his body, his groin. He kissed her again, hungry to comfort her; to take her pain away; to inhale her. She kissed him back; the tension in her body taking on a different tone. 

He was suddenly disgusted with himself. How could he have done this? Crossed that line when she was so utterly vulnerable? He pulled back from her, as if suddenly physically shocked by her touch. He stepped rapidly backwards and slipped on the coffee that was on the floor by her desk. WHAM. He hit the floor, smacking his head on the corner of her wastepaper bin on his way down; his glasses clattering down next to him. He blacked out for a moment. She was screaming again. “Matt! Matt! Are you ok? You’re bleeding!” He scrambled into a sitting position and slid back towards the wall, shocked at his behaviour, and shocked by the fall. She dropped to her hands and knees, moving towards him. “That was a mistake, a mistake, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”, he mumbled. She crawled closer. “GET AWAY FROM ME!” he roared, exploding with misplaced rage. He was consumed by anger at himself, for kissing her; anger at having reached a point where he knew he had to kill a man if he was to protect her; and anger at realising that the best thing to keep her safe was in fact to protect her from himself; from the fallout that could come in the wake of what he planned to do. 

She stopped dead, horrified at his words, his tone. Silent tears begin streaming down her face. “Wh… what?” she whispered. “Get away from me! I will be the end of you”, he shouted. He scrambled to his feet and bolted out of the door, leaving his glasses on the floor. Karen began sobbing again, intensely hurt and shocked. What had he meant? “I will be the end of you…” Impossible. He (and Foggy) had been her beginning here in Hell’s Kitchen, in terms of helping her move forward, away from her damaged past. He would hopefully be her future, she finally admitted to herself. She wept, all thought of Fisk erased by the fear that she had lost Matt, to something that she could not place. She was embarrassed at what had just happened… It was nearly one year to the day since she had been kidnapped and then shot James Wesley to death, and this violent anniversary had begun plaguing her again. This was no doubt why she had over-reacted to the news of Fisk’s escape. She had yet to tell a soul what she had done. And not for the first time, either.

She picked up Matt’s glasses. He always looked so vulnerable without them. He’d left his stick behind, too. She felt she should go to him, but was too stunned and angry to do so. Still on the floor, she turned around and leaned against the wall, next to where he had been, just moments ago. The last time she had felt so alone was when she had been in prison, and he and Foggy had given her hope and ultimately, friendship. Now she had been left with more blood on the floor… Matt’s blood. Panic now consumed her, primarily in the form of the threat of losing him. 

\------------------------------

Matt ran out the building and to the end of the block, horrified at the scene that had just unfolded with Karen. His head hurt, and he felt the sticky trickle of blood dripping down his neck, where he had hit his head on the bin. He stopped to listen. He heard some of the news report from the corner café. Fisk had executed his escape as he was being led into the courthouse. He had jumped into a black SUV, which had disappeared… the same story as when he had escaped last time. Matt ran. He ran home. He listened, and listened, so hard that he thought his head would split. He reached his apartment, clattered through the door, and up onto the roof, and strained to hear anything that might direct him to where Fisk was headed. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He listened for an hour or more. He heard snippets of the news updates all around him, but nothing new was being relayed. He paced and paced, and eventually punched a hole in the door to the roof, screaming in unbearable rage and shame. He went back inside opened a bottle of whiskey and began swigging at it, to calm his nerves, just like that first time he’d had to stitch his dad up. He drank, dulled by his mounting disbelief at what was happening- Fisk; Karen. Karen- the timbre of her voice- nothing could calm him as much. Not even the half bottle of booze he had thrown back, not realising how much he’d had. He passed out on the bed. 

\-------------------------------  
Karen had slept at her desk. She felt much safer here than at home, as illogical as that was-their office was hardly the most secure place in the world. Her neck and arms ached from having been hunched over for the past few hours. Her eyes were puffy from crying. She had eventually fallen asleep at around 5:30 am; it was now 10am. Her thoughts burned with what had happened between her and Matt the night before. Or had it happened? It felt surreal. But then… his blood was still on the floor. She began to freak out again. Had he made it home alright? Should she try and find him? She sat, paralysed by fear. She too, began pacing the floor. Should she call him? Try to find him? She struggled to make sense of him… at times he was open and warm, smiling and laughing. Those times made her feel as if nothing could harm their little trio; as if she had never taken another person’s life; as if she were intact. But at other times, though less frequently of late, he behaved like a wounded animal, seemingly in both physical and emotional pain, when he withdrew and became brusque. Those weird injuries he sometimes had… all the excuses he came up with; all the secrecy. She had never probed him about what he had meant that night he had become so emotional- “if I want to be effective at what I do”. What he did? Being a lawyer? That didn’t get you smacked and bruised. But despite these odd incidents, she trusted him, and she had felt that he cared for her. She just hadn’t realised to what extent until last night. 

She decided to brave it and call him, just to make sure he was ok. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to discuss what had happened. And she was unsure that he would answer. She called, and heard his cell ring on his desk. So much for that. She picked up her bag, Matt’s phone, his glasses and his stick. She left towards her apartment. She needed a shower and a change of clothes, before she could decide what to do next. 

\----------------------------

Matt awoke later in the day, blinded even more by a hangover headache. He was disoriented when he woke, panicky, until he felt the pattern of his bedspread and smelled his usual apartment scents. He tried to listen again. He couldn’t. His head… He found some painkillers in his bathroom cupboard and went and lay on his bed. He couldn’t be bothered to shower, or eat. He had, he felt, irrevocably destroyed his relationship with Karen. He couldn’t bear it. Scenes of last night cloyed at him; he couldn’t escape them. He crawled into bed and tried to sleep, but couldn’t. He found the bottle of whiskey again, but it was empty. He threw it against the wall out of frustration. Eventually he dragged himself up to shower, actually wanting to cleanse his soul, not his body. He managed to sleep, fitfully, after that. He was shocked awake by banging on his door. He shot up, knocking over his bedside clock. Was it Fisk? Someone paid by Fisk? Had they finally worked it out? His dulled brain crawled back to sensibility when he heard Karen’s voice. “Matt? Are you there? I can hear you…” He froze. Should he go to her? Face up to what had happened between them? He got up, deciding to go to the door, to tell her to leave. He stood on a piece of the whiskey bottle, cutting his foot. He swore loudly. “Matt! Open the goddamned door!” 

He limped towards the door. Her scent and warmth dizzied him. “You have to go. Leave me be”, he shouted. He couldn’t even say her name. “I won’t”, she said. “I will not. I will stay outside this door for as long as it takes. I need to see that you are ok- you’re already always covered in bruises, falling over things; God knows whether you managed to get home unharmed without your stick… and you hit your head last night. Please, Matt… I won’t stay. I brought your glasses, and your stick and phone.” 

He heard his door click open before he realised he was opening it. He couldn’t stop himself. He ‘saw’ her standing there, all white-hot, and radiating… something he couldn’t interpret. “Karen, I…” “What, Matt? You what? You look like crap, is what. Your foot is bleeding all over the place.” She looked up from the floor and saw silent tears run down his cheeks, just as she had had last night. She saw her own pain mirrored in his. “I’m so sorry”, he gasped, unable to keep his emotions from leaking out of him. He leaned forward, supporting himself with a hand on the wall. “Me too” she said, her own voice quavering. “But here’s the thing. I know somehow that you can actually keep me safe. At least, I’ve never felt as safe and contained around anyone else. There’s something about you, that I… um…” He felt his own heart pounding in his ears; and heard hers, quickening as she stood there. He wanted her so badly. In the carnal sense, of course, but in so many other ways. She was physically beautiful, yes, but he wanted all of her- the way she spoke, the way she thought, the way she breathed, walked, moved, laughed… the way she… felt.

He felt her lips against his; tasted his own tears. Now her tears, too. She wrapped her arms around his neck and began to kiss him more urgently. He stood, stunned, unable to move, until her warmth, pulsing through his body, unlocked him. She guided them into the hallway and pushed the door closed with her foot. He put his hands on her back- gently, as if afraid he would break her. Piece by piece, he was being put back together, as he stood in his hall, kissing the woman he had grown to love more and more over the last year. He broke away to scoop her up, and took her to the couch, limping as he went. He laid her down and sat next to her, openly weeping now, apologising again and again for having hurt her. She touched his face and pulled him into her arms. She smelled of love and comfort, he thought. She held him until he was done crying. And then, she began kissing him again. She straddled him and peeled off his T-shirt, tracing her hand down his spine. She opened her eyes and looked shyly down at his chest. She gasped- seeing the scars coursing across his body. “Matt! What happened here?” she whispered. He gasped. He’d forgotten. Only Claire had seen these scars before… 

“Do you trust me?” he said. “Yes, with my life.” She meant it. She would put her life in the hands of this blind man. “Then trust that I will tell you, but not right now. I need this moment. I have been wishing for this moment for months… can we just…” Her lips connected with his again. She understood. He ran his hands up her stomach, over her breasts. He glanced his fingers over her cheeks and lips. She took off her t-shirt. He took off her bra, slowly and gently. He caressed her breasts and she caught her breath. Her skin buzzed at his touch. “I’ve been aching for this too”, she muttered. They kissed more passionately, yet still gently, in a way neither of them had experienced before. He felt himself getting hard. She began pulling down his track pants, and then undid her jeans. He finished pulling off his pants, and lay her down, headache and sliced foot forgotten. She pulled off her panties, and he clambered on top of her; uncharacteristically clumsy. They kissed again, and he pushed inside her, channelling all of his anger, sadness, joy, love, redemption, through her beautiful body. She inhaled sharply as he began rocking his hips gently, loving her in the closest way humanly possible. Thoughts of Fisk and danger lay shattered at their feet. With each other, they could face anything. They each had this thought at the same moment- a high-pitched, climactic moment, that liberated them both.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! I have never written fan fiction in my life before, but I was so damn taken with Netflix's Daredevil! The only thing missing was a real love story for Matt... So this is my first ever piece of fiction; I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it!


End file.
